


to fight the rising odds

by professor



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cameos, F/M, Flirting, Identity Porn, M/M, Superheroes, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor
Summary: Kathryn Janeway, crimefighting protector of Delta City, has 99 problems and they're all the new supervillain in town.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *pokes head into fandom*
> 
> Anybody order a superhero AU with a side of identity porn?

Her city never sleeps, and neither does she.

That's what the stories say. 

But tonight, the city might as well be sleeping. It's been an uneventful patrol. The streets are quiet. She might be able to wrap things up and get a good night's sleep herself for once.

She activates her earpiece. "Goldenbird to base."

"Base here, Goldenbird," says Oversight. "My scans continue to show nothing of note. Anything to report?"

"Nothing here, Oversight," she says, leaping from one rooftop to the next. "I'm going to finish my patrol and come back to base soon."

"A logical plan. We await your arrival. Oversight out."

One last stop, and then she'll head home.

*

It seems silly to have a favorite rooftop, but she does. She loves the view of the city it affords -- her city. It's where she comes to think, to be alone.

Except someone's already here.

She doesn't recognize the figure perched on the edge of the rooftop, watching over the city, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. 

Her fingers twitch toward her stun disks, but that's premature. The figure is doing nothing but perching on a roof -- she doesn't _know_ it's a criminal. 

Even though she'd swear she hadn't made a sound, the figure whirls around to look at her, and takes a defensive stance.

"What's a nice mysterious figure like you doing on a rooftop like this?" she drawls, because why not. She casually shifts into a stance of her own.

"Just taking in the fresh air," he says -- she's fairly certain it's a 'he' now that she's got a look at his build, though he is wearing a full-face mask and using a voice modulator just like she does. "Although you'll find I'm not very nice."

He steps out of the shadows, and she gets a better look at his attire -- solid black, touches of red, a design she's seen before from Oversight's files on up and coming threats. "You're Fury." Funny, he doesn't look furious, or even angry at the moment. But in his stance, his bearing, he is every inch a warrior.

She recalls what Oversight had briefed her on -- new supervillain in town, working with a partner named Wrath, associated with a mysterious group known as the Maquis. 

"And you must be the incomparable Goldenbird." They're circling each other now, waiting for an opening. 

She's just about decided that he isn't going to give her one and she should just attack regardless, when he makes the same decision, throwing himself at her. 

She barely has time to shift and use his own momentum to throw him over her shoulder. 

He tucks into a roll, flipping to his feet and barely dodging the stun disks she'd thrown at where she'd expected him to land. 

She flings herself at him, launching a flurry of blows he's hard-pressed to counter. 

He retaliates by hooking his ankle behind hers, knocking her off her feet. She flips back to standing and launches another stun disk. 

This one hits, but he somehow absorbs at least part of the charge. He staggers, breathing heavily. But he's still standing. 

"Well this has been fun, but I'm afraid I can't stay," he says. "Another time." He flings a smoke bomb at his feet, and by the time the smoke clears, he's gone.

She can already feel a headache starting. This is going to be a long night.

*

"I hope you had a better night than I did," Kathryn says the next morning to Tom, as he stumbles into the war room. 

"I had a quiet night on patrol," says Tom, piling a plate with bacon and eggs. "Got to try out my new jetpack, the retro-thrusters work great."

"You're welcome," says Harry, swinging in. He gives his boyfriend a quick kiss and starts filling a plate with fruit and pastries. He frowns, looking at Tom's plate, and dumps some fruit on there as well. Tom grumbles but allows it. "How was your night?" Harry asks Kathryn.

"Wait until Tuvok gets here," she says, taking a sip of her coffee. Harry sets a second plate full of fruit and pastries in front of her as he and Tom take their seats. She narrows her eyes at both of them, but they stare at her relentlessly until she sighs and starts eating. 

When Tuvok arrives, Kathryn starts the briefing.

"Last night at the end of my patrol, I ran into that new supervillain, Fury," she begins, and then tells them about the encounter.

"Sounds like a party," grins Tom, after she finishes. Kathryn rolls her eyes at him.

Harry frowns. "I don't like that he was able to shrug off the effects of your stun disk. Nothing I've heard about indicates he has that kind of innate ability. That implies he's got some kind of tech that can do it. And the implications of that --"

"-- Are problematic, I agree," says Kathryn. "See what you can do about improving the charge." Harry nods, and Kathryn moves onto the next item.

"Tuvok, have your sources uncovered anything about what Fury's goals are, why he came here, and not to another city?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I have been unable to determine his motives thus far, or the motives of his associates. I will continue my research."

"Do that," says Kathryn. "I have the feeling we haven't seen the last of him."

*

The information Tuvok eventually uncovers is scant and dubious -- apparently the Maquis, a mysterious, shadowy organization, was formed in response to a group called the Cardassians, another mysterious, shadowy organization, on that's supposedly been operating for years, even decades. 

Except that neither Tuvok nor Kathryn have even heard of the Cardassians before, and they've both been in the crimefighting game for a long, long time. It seems ludicrous that a criminal organization could have hidden themselves so well for so long. It seems far more likely that they are an urban legend that the Maquis invented for their own purposes.

And yet ... Kathryn tells Tuvok to keep digging. 

Just in case.

*

"Phoenix to Goldenbird," buzzes in Kathryn's earpiece several nights later. "Rocketman and I could use your help. Suspects invading the Delta City Latinum Exchange."

She goes into a flying leap and takes off, spreading her mechanical wings, turning on her stealth mode, and making her best speed to the exchange.

When she gets there, Phoenix and Rocketman are both barely holding their own against a lithe figure dressed similiarly enough to Fury that she assumes it must be Wrath. Wrath packs a mean punch, both with their bare fists and with their tech -- Kathryn's frankly a little impressed by what she sees as she approaches, still in stealth mode.

"The other one's inside!" Rocketman says in her ear. "We'll take care of this one, go!"

She slips inside, and when she sees Fury in the vault, she doesn't bother with banter, she just launches herself at him, knocking what he's carrying out of his hands.

The fight is short and brutal, and it ends only when he throws her against a wall and takes advantage of the opening to flee. She tries to deploy another stun disk, but this one has even less of an effect that the one she'd used during their previous fight. He doesn't even break his stride.

She can already feel the bruises forming. Still, she likes to think she left him with a few bruises of his own. 

Phoenix and Rocketman report that Wrath had fled at the same time Fury had. 

She sighs. Not one of their better thwartings.

*

"All right folks," Kathryn says at the next briefing. "What have we learned?"

"They're paranoid enough to use full face-masks and voice modulators like we do," says Tom. "And they cut and run when they were outnumbered. But that was a strategic move, not panic." Kathryn agrees with his assessment -- they're careful, not cowards. Which makes them dangerous.

"Their tech is amazing," Harry gushes. "Whoever they have building it is a genius."

"I don't have any proof, but I think it might be Wrath herself," says Tom. "She said something during the fight that made me think she was building it, not just using it."

"And she hits really, really hard," says Harry. "If it weren't for the armor in our suits I think I might have cracked a rib."

Something occurs to Kathryn. "The first time I fought Fury, I used a stun disk on him and it was only partially effective. Last night, I tried again, and it barely did anything. I think Wrath might have reverse-engineered the first disk and upgraded their armor specifically to withstand it."

Harry's brow furrows. "The disks are designed to slag after they discharge. If she was able to reverse engineer it from that mess, she must be an even better engineer than we thought. Maybe even a technopath."

That's a big problem. 

They toss around ideas, but the only concrete suggestion they come up with is to not let Wrath get her hands on any more of their tech.

Welp, guess she's getting out her old stun batons. She likes the disks so much better. Dammit.

*

Another week, another pointless gala.

She picks a piece of nearly invisible lint off her red silk floor length gown, as she takes Tom's arm and they make their entrance. Tom always escorts her to these functions, and the media always has a field day about the Janeway heiress and her younger lover. It suits both of them to let people believe it, for different reasons.

"I hate these things," Tom mutters under his breath. "They never get any less boring and tedious."

"At least you get to go home to your boyfriend after this," murmurs Kathryn. "I have nothing but my cold and lonely bed to console me."

"If you want a threesome, Kathryn, you just have to ask," Tom leers at her, waggling his eyebrows. She smacks his shoulder because it's either that or burst out laughing.

Of course that's the moment when they run into Tom's father. 

"Kathryn, Tom," says Owen Paris, the Chief of Police. He spares a vaguely sad, pitying look at Kathryn, and a contemptuous glance at his son.

"Owen, hello!" Kathryn says brightly. "So lovely to see you, as always. But I'm sure you must be very busy, protecting the city, so we'll let you get back to it."

She can feel Tom's clenched fist as she leads him away.

"Don't let him get to you, Tom," Kathryn murmurs to him. 

Tom barks out a laugh. "You really think I care what he says about me?" He waves his hand dismissively. "Please. But he has no right to look at you like that, as if --"

"As if I'd once been one of his most promising young officers, but then threw away my career to fritter away my life as an empty-headed socialite living on her inheritance?" Kathryn says lightly. "You know I've spent a lot of hard work building up that persona. I'd rather not waste it."

"You shouldn't have to," Tom grumbles.

"It's necessary," Kathryn retorts. "If you can fool your allies, you can fool your enemies."

Tom snorts. "Some ally."

"He's still the Chief of Police, and we still have to work with him," says Kathryn. "Now come on. Let's go scandalize the society papers with our antics. Any thoughts on what we should do this time?"

Tom thinks for a moment, and then brightens up. "Dancing in the fountain? We haven't done that one in a while, and the weather's nice."

"Sounds great," says Kathryn. "These heels are killing me."

Kathryn and Tom split up to mingle, with a plan to meet up by the enormous fountain in the gardens in about an hour. Pretending to get falling down drunk is child's play for both of them -- she figures they can be out of here in an hour and a half, tops, leaving plenty of the evening left for hero business.

She has the same three conversations with the same two dozen people and dances with the same eight partners that she'd danced with at the previous gala. And the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before that. 

She barely stifles a yawn as she sips from her champagne.

"Don't tell me you're bored?"

For a split second she almost thinks it's Tom -- the question has the same playfully mocking edge that he would have used, but the voice is all wrong. She turns her head to look at the speaker.

 _Well._

Whoever he is, he's new in town, or at least new on the society circuit. Tall and broad-shouldered, dark and handsome -- yes, Kathryn would definitely have recognized him if she'd seen him before.

"Maybe I just haven't had the right company," she says, toying with the rim of her champagne glass. Flirting at parties like these has become second nature. Though somehow flirting with him seems like less of a chore than usual.

"Let's see if we can change that," says tall, dark, and handsome, his eyes twinkling. He kisses the back of her hand, and doesn't immediately release it.

She raises an eyebrow. "And you are, mister ...?"

"Amal," he says. "Just Amal."

"Kathryn Janeway," she says, even though she's fairly certain he knows who she is. Most people do, on the society circuit.

"Kathryn," and the way he says her name is like a caress. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," she says, sipping her champagne. "So, Mister Just Amal, what brings you to our fair city? Business, or pleasure?"

"Both, of course," he says, "It's so boring to have one without the other."

Her mouth curls into a crooked grin. "I've found that to be true, myself. I'm always delighted to meet someone else who shares that opinion. Tell me, what sorts of business and what sorts of pleasure you've been pursuing, here in town?"

"I've been looking for new opportunities and trying to meet interesting new people, mostly." He looks her up and down. "And I've definitely succeeded on the second one." 

"Flatterer," she laughs.

"It's not flattery if it's true."

Dozens of men have used similar lines on her, but his words ring with honest sincerity, a refreshing change. There's something compelling about him, something that she wants to explore further.

"Well, Mister Just Amal," says Kathryn, setting down her glass. "Do you dance?"

"Not usually." He quirks an eyebrow. "But for you I'll make an exception," he says, offering her his hand. 

"I'm honored," she drawls, taking his hand and letting him lead her out onto the dance floor.

She idly notes the calluses on the backs of his knuckles as he takes her hands -- a boxer? He has the build for it. That's probably why he's wearing concealer over his left eye. It's expertly applied and blended, but Kathryn knows the signs, given how many times she, Tom, and Harry have all had to use that trick to cover bruises of their own.

For someone who claims to not dance, he seems to know what he's doing, and it's remarkably easy for her to fall into rhythm with him.

It's so easy to talk to him. He's the most interesting person he's met at one of these events in months. Possibly _ever_. The song ends, but they keep dancing through the next. And the next. And the next.

It occurs to Kathryn that she should have started pretending to be getting drunk, to lay the groundwork for her performance with Tom later. But ... she doesn't want to just yet. She just wants to enjoy this moment, this dance, this night, this man. Amal seems equally disinclined to let her go.

The musicians start up a tango, and she's about to suggest they go get something to drink, when she notices the challenging gleam in his eye.

A wicked grin spreads across her face. Well, she's not going to back down if he won't.

Doesn't dance her _ass_. The way that man moves his hips should be illegal. 

After tiring themselves out on the dance floor, they each get another drink and continue their conversation. She's regaling him with one of her funnier stories from the socialite scene when they're interrupted.

"Ch-Amal!" says the irritated-looking brunette who's striding up to them. "We have to go. Something's come up."

"Lana," he says, looking annoyed, "are you sure it can't wait?"

The brunette -- Lana's -- eyes dart from Amal to Kathryn, and her face softens minutely. "I'm sorry Amal. I wouldn't pull you away if it weren't important."

A look of honest regret flashes across his face. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Kathryn," he tells her, taking her hand. "But --"

"It's fine," she smiles, squeezing his hand. "Duty calls, I understand." 

He shoots her a wistful look over his shoulder as Lana hustles him out the door.

Kathryn sighs, and checks the time. 

Well, Tom should be waiting for her at the fountain.

*

It's nearly noon the next day when Kathryn drags herself to her office at Janeway Enterprises.

She's barely taken a sip of her coffee when a newspaper is slammed down onto her desk. 

"So I see my wayward sister made a fool of herself at another party," says Phoebe. "Flighty, irresponsible, a disgrace to the family name. Among other things."

Kathryn raises an eyebrow. "Better flighty and irresponsible than a stuck-up prig who works too much."

Phoebe rolls her eyes. "And whose fault is that, hmmm? You're the one who decided to go off and be a secret sexy crimefighter while I had to take over the family business." She jumps up to sit on the edge of Kathryn's desk, dramatically draping the back of her hand across her forehead. "The poor, beleaguered younger sister, forced to work herself to death as CEO while her sister parties her life away and does nothing for the company but sit behind a desk with the empty meaningless title of 'Vice-President of Special Projects.'"

"Meaningless title, sure," Kathryn snorts. In reality the "Special Projects" department was where they hid anything to do with Goldenbird and her team: tech, property, shell corporations, etc.

"So dancing in the fountain, huh," says Phoebe. "You've already used that one a few times, you and Tom might want to come up with something new."

Kathryn shrugs. "The weather was nice." Phoebe does have a point, though.

"So enough about your antics. Tell me about him," says Phoebe, swinging her legs back and forth.

Kathryn looks at her strangely. "You've met Tom. You see him all the time."

Phoebe rolls her eyes. "Not, Tom, _him_ ," she says, pointing to a photo on the front of the society section. In it, Kathryn and Amal are tangoing the night away.

Instead of answering, Kathryn takes another sip of her coffee. But it's not enough to hide the smile that crosses her face as she remembers what a lovely time she had last night.

"I knew it!" Phoebe crows triumphantly. "I knew you had a thing for this guy!"

"Phoebe," says Kathryn with a mix of fondness and exasperation, "we just danced a few times. We didn't even exchange contact info." She's kind of regretting that, actually, but like hell she's going to tell Phoebe.

"Yeah but I bet you're regretting not getting his deets," says Phoebe.

Ugh, how does she _do_ that.

*

Kathryn's following up on a tip in the warehouse district tonight, but it looks like it's not going to pan out this evening. She's been here for hours, and there's been no activity of any kind. 

At least, not from the warehouse. A shiver crawls up her spine, and she whirls around to see Fury watching her. She really hopes he hasn't been there long, it's embarrassing. 

She rocks back into a defensive stance, but instead of responding, he relaxes his posture, hands spread wide. "I'm not here to fight." 

She's tempted to attack him anyway. "Then why are you here?" she demands, putting her hands on hips.

He shrugs. "Can't a man take a stroll on a rooftop under the moonlight? Last time I checked, it wasn't illegal." 

Kathryn snorts. What a load of horseshit. "I think you'll find that tresspassing is a crime, Fury."

She can't see his face, but somehow she knows he's smiling under his mask right now. "If I'm going down for that, so are you," he points out.

On the one hand, Janeway Enterprises owns this building, so no she's _not_ trespassing; on the other hand, it's not like she can tell him that. A rookie mistake on her part, but something about him is throwing her off her game. She doesn't like it. 

"I don't have time for your games," she tells him severely. "State your purpose or leave. Or better yet, surrender yourself so I can take you in."

"Oh, but I like games," he says, backflipping onto the rooftop's raised ledge, landing in a crouch. (It's an impossibly graceful move but she's not impressed. She's _not_.)

And damn, she never could resist a challenge -- she does a flip of her own, landing on the ledge only a few feet away from him. She prefers to stand, though. 

"It seems you like games, too," he notes idly. 

"They do have their uses," she admits. "Besides, it seems like every two-bit criminal in town plays games, or has a gimmick these days."

Fury laughs. "What's the phrase? 'Criminals are a superstitous and cowardly lot'? And also, you dress up in a costume to fight crime, I don't think you get to call people out on their gimmicks," he points out. 

"I don't think a man calling himself 'Fury' gets to call me out on calling other people out on their gimmicks," she retorts, hands on hips. 

"I don't know, I think that makes me perfect for it," he says serenely. "Takes one to know one, and all that."

He flips to his feet, so he's facing her. And damn, why does he have to be so tall? 

(She's flirting with him. _Why_ is she flirting with him. This is a terrible idea.)

"I wonder," he muses, stepping towards her, "just what you look like under that mask."

Her mouth curls into a smirk. "Try it, and see what happens," she invites. 

"Oh I intend to." He leaps gracefully to the next rooftop. "But not, I think, tonight."

"Try never." She jumps over to the next rooftop with him. 

"That sounds like a challenge. I like those even more than I like games." 

"That doesn't surprise me." 

"As enjoyable as this has been, however, I need to be going." And he steps sideways, _plummeting_ out of view. 

Her fear is so visceral it chokes her, as she leaps to where he was standing and looks down. 

There's nothing. He's gone.

She tells herself sternly that he certainly must have had a way of transporting or flying away, and that he's fine. There's no body, no blood, nothing. He's _fine_. 

But her heart keeps pounding, and it's strangely hard to breathe.

*

Later that night, Kathryn stares at herself in the mirror. "I am in so much trouble," she sighs.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the new warnings. I don't think it's anything *super* graphic, but I'm erring on the side of caution here.

She doesn't sleep well that night, so she's not in the best mood the next morning.

As she's heading to the morning briefing, she sees that Tom and Harry are arguing in low voices in the hall outside of the war room. They break off as soon as they see her, but from the looks on their faces it's a discussion they'll be picking up later.

Kathryn raises an eyebrow. "Something I should be aware of?"

"Nope," says Tom. "Everything's hunky dory." Harry purses his lips and shoots Tom an irritated look. 

"Save it for later, gentlemen." She strides past them into the room, taking her customary seat. Tom and Harry quickly follow suit.

Tuvok, early as always, inclines his head in greeting from where he's already seated. "Good morning. I have some results from my recent research that I wish to share with you." He brings up a holographic display. "I have been studying the reports of crimes attributed to the organization known as the Maquis, and crimes attributed to Fury and Wrath in particular." The display shows a series of dots overlaying a map of the city, interconnected with a web of lines. "After cross-referencing a number of factors, I have noticed there does not seem to be any pattern, cohesive plan, or logical goals that we can extrapolate from the data as it is presented. But that very illogic itself suggests another hypothesis." 

Kathryn's already starting to see a pattern herself. "It's only illogical if you consider it to be the work of one group. But if you postulate that it's the work of _two_ different groups ..."

Tuvok inclines his head. "Indeed. This is how the data looks if you assume that two groups are involved." The display shifts, and two obvious patterns emerge.

Harry's brow furrows. "They're fighting each other -- or at the very least countering each other." Tom nods in agreement. 

"Which leads us back to the rumors about the group called the Cardassians," says Kathryn. "Which has been impossible to find information about." She taps a finger against her temple. "I think we need to find out _why_ the Maquis are clashing with the Cardassians." She shakes her head. "Pity I didn't know this last night," she murmurs, half to herself. "Wasted opportunity."

"By that comment, may we assume you had another encounter with Fury?" Tuvok asks.

"Yes, we ran into each other when I was staking out that warehouse." She gives a quick summary of the encounter -- though she leaves out a few details, and skims over others. 

"Do you know what he wanted?" asks Harry.

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. He could have simply wanted to taunt me" _flirt with me_ "or he was distracting me from something happening elsewhere."

Tom and Harry shoot each other a look. 

"Something you'd like to share with the class?" asks Kathryn. 

"Actually ... we ran into Wrath last night, on patrol," Harry says slowly. "While we were in the river district. Given this, I think she may have been doing recon."

"You think, but you're not sure?"

"We didn't exactly have time to talk," says Tom. 

"There was some talking," murmurs Harry. 

Kathryn waits for them to offer more information, but neither seem forthcoming. She eyes both of them before continuing. "Regardless, we need more information. I have some contacts I can reach out to."

"I have more avenues of research to pursue as well," says Tuvok. 

"And if there are any more run-ins, it probably wouldn't be a terrible idea to ask a few questions," adds Harry. "It's a long shot, but they might let something slip."

Kathryn nods. "Agreed." She stands up. "Meeting adjourned."

*

Kathryn does what she always does when she needs to find out some information -- she goes to lunch.

One of the benefits of knowing the owner/chef is that she is immediately ushered to her favorite booth in a quiet corner. She doesn't bother with a menu -- she has it memorized. 

"Kathryn, how are you," says the chef, coming over to greet her with a hug and a kiss. "It's been too long."

"You just saw me last week Judith," laughs Kathryn.

"As I said, it's been too long." Judith slides into the bench on the other side of the booth. "Now what can I get my third favorite customer?"

"Well, I'd like the jambalaya. And to drink --"

"Coffee, black." Judith says with Kathryn. "Anything else?"

"Well, I was also wondering if your brother might be coming into town anytime soon. I was hoping to catch up with him."

As it happens, Judith has three brothers. But Judith doesn't ask Kathryn which one she means. She doesn't have to.

Judith nods slowly. "As a matter of fact, he might be in a few days. I'll let you know."

"That would be wonderful." Kathryn smiles. "Thank you."

Judith heads back to her kitchen, and Kathryn pulls out a PADD and starts to catch up on some work. A server delivers a whole pot of fresh coffee to her table, and she pours herself a cup. Her eyes flutter shut as she inhales the wonderful aroma.

"I wanted to say hello, but now I'm wondering if I should leave you two alone."

Kathryn's eyes fly open as she nearly drops her coffee cup. As she fumbles for it, she spills some of the hot coffee, hissing when it hits her hand. 

Instantly the teasing grin on the speaker's face melts into concern. "Could we get some ice over here?" he asks a passing server. "I'm so sorry," he says, turning back to Kathryn. "Hell of a way to reintroduce myself to you." Amal ducks his head sheepishly, tugging on his earlobe. 

Despite the circumstances, Kathryn finds herself smiling. "Well, it certainly was memorable." 

The server brings back some ice wrapped in a towel, and Amal accepts it. "May I?" he asks, gesturing toward her hand.

"By all means." He slides into the other side of the booth and takes her hand, gently pressing the makeshift icepack against the angry red mark left by the hot coffee.

He grins wryly at her. "I was already planning to ask if I could join you for lunch, but now I hope you'll allow me to treat you, as an apology."

"I'd be happy for the company, but there's no need to apologize. I was clumsy all on my own." Her mouth curls up in a crooked grin. "Trust me, it's not the first time."

"Ah, but I'm the one that startled you with my smart mouth. Next time I'll stick with something simple like 'Hello.'" He flashes those dimples of his at her. He's playing dirty. Not to mention that strictly speaking, he doesn't need to keep holding her hand like this. It's rather distracting. But she's not planning to tell him to stop. 

"You could also try "Good afternoon'," she says. 

"I've always liked 'howdy'," he tells her. 

"Or 'hey you over there'," she grins.

He leans forward, looking at her intently. "What about 'What do you want for breakfast'''?"

Her breath catches in her throat. _Well_. He doesn't waste time.

Kathryn's saved from having to make a response by the server coming back to the table. Instead, she explains that Amal will be joining her. He places an order without even looking at the menu. 

"Come here often?" Kathryn asks.

He shakes his head. "Not this location, but I've been to the original in New Orleans." He yawns. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Late night?" asks Kathryn sympathetically. 

"Unfortunately yes. And I'm not as young as I used to be," he shrugs.

Kathryn's mouths twists wryly as she thinks of her own previous evening. "I understand. Believe me."

Conversation flows just as easily between them as it had at the gala a few weeks ago. Kathryn finds herself utterly charmed. She has to be "on" so often -- patroling and leading her team as Goldenbird, working for her company, maintaining her facade as a frivolous socialite -- that it's nice to relax for once. Enjoying a nice meal with an attractive man is a luxury she rarely gets to indulge in.

Before she knows it, their food is arriving. "You're in for a treat," says Kathryn. "Judith is just as good a chef as her father." 

"So kind of you to say." Judith sets down their plates. "Especially since Dad is constantly telling me I don't put enough cayenne pepper in my jambalaya."

Kathryn takes a bite of her food and nearly moans. "Well, he's wrong. This is perfect." Judith smiles, winks, and heads back to the kitchen. 

Kathryn's eaten a few more bites of her meal when she realizes her companion hasn't touched his food yet. "Something wrong?"

"No," he smiles, chin in hand. "I'm just enjoying watching you."

She flushes, and takes a sip of water to cover her discomfiture. But he does pick up a fork and start eating his own meal, thankfully.

Later, after they've finished their food, they playfully argue over the check. Kathryn wins by snatching it out of his hand and giving it and her card to the server before he can react.

"Well," he says, conceding defeat. "I suppose you'll just have to let me treat you to another meal, instead."

Kathryn opens her mouth to answer before the reality of her life comes crashing down on her.

It would be so, so easy to say yes. But dating him? And sleeping with him? That would lead to situations she can't explain, questions she's not prepared to answer. And it's not fair to do that to him.

 _I don't think that's the best idea_ is what she ought to say. Something unambiguous. But what comes out is "My schedule is rather busy for the next few weeks. I'm not sure when I'd be free."

He studies her for a moment, and then inclines his head in acceptance of her unspoken message. The corner of his mouth curls up in a rueful grin. Her heart cracks just the tiniest bit. 

She doesn't often regret the life she leads, the choices she's made, the things she's given up.

But right now, for just a moment, she is.

*

Of course, to add insult to injury, the next few nights are very quiet. Nothing happens on her patrols aside from some very routine crime-stopping -- attempting muggings, some petty theft. 

On the other hand, Tom and Harry are still acting a bit furtive, and having heated discussions. The one or two times she's tried to ask them what's going on, they've both shut down. She'd normally push harder, but it's not affecting their patrols and frankly she's got other things on her mind.

*

Strange men joining her for a meal seems to be a theme of the week -- a few days later, Kathryn is at her favorite coffee shop when Judith's brother slides into the chair across from her. "I heard you were looking for me."

"Glad you could make some time for me, Ben." Kathryn doesn't know which alphabet agency Benjamin Sisko works for, but he's always willing to trade information with her. He almost certainly knows about her extracurriculars -- there's no reason that socialite heiress Kathryn Janeway would need the information she asks him about -- but he's never confronted her about it. 

"Well, it was an excuse to see my sister. And I have ... other reasons for wanting to poke around your city."

Kathryn reaches into her purse and activates a gadget that will ensure their privacy. "The Cardassians?"

He grimaces. "I see you've met."

"I wasn't sure they were real, to be honest. Though lately there's been a few ... let's call them breadcrumbs."

"They're real, all right." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "My team and I have had run-ins with them going back years. And one of their former members consults for us on occasion." Ben has a wry, bemused look on his face. "He's also sleeping with one of my agents. They think I don't know." He looks at her, face serious again. "I'll send you what information I can give you. And a word of advice. Be careful. Don't underestimate them."

"I won't," she says. "Next question. The Maquis."

Ben's face darkens, and he shakes his head, as though to clear it. "That's complicated." He drags his hand down his face. "And to be honest I'm not unbiased about them."

 _Neither am I_ , the thought comes to her unbidden.

"I don't know the whole story," he tells her. "But there are certain elements who were worried about the Cardassian threat, and didn't like how we were handling the situation. And other elements who are angry about the damage the Cardassians have already caused, the lives taken, the communities and livelihoods destroyed. The Cardassians have done horrifying, unspeakable things. I won't pretend they haven't. I understand why the Maquis exist. But I can't agree with their methods."

Kathryn purses her lips. "We're neither of us exactly on the straight and narrow ourselves, Ben." Costumed vigilantes and mysterious spy agencies don't thrive in the light of day.

"Not like this." 

The conversation turns away from business at this point, and they spend several minutes chatting about mutual acquaintances before Ben gets up to leave.

Ben's given her a lot to think about. But she's reserving judgement until she finds out more.

*

Kathryn and Tuvok carefully go over the information Ben sends them, and add it to what they already have. They're getting a better idea of the whole picture, though there are plenty of pieces still missing.

But it's enough for them to predict some of the group's movements. 

Which is how Kathryn and her team end up in the middle of a fire fight down at the docks one night.

It's only meant to be recon, but when the shooting starts, her team leaps into the fray, disabling and knocking out opponents with extreme prejudice. One of the groups is clearly larger than the other, but the smaller group is fighting valiantly. 

In the confusion it's all too easy to get cut off from Tom and Harry, and so she ends up facing three thugs by herself. 

An ion blast comes within a hair of her body, singing her cape. A quick stun disk to the thug's wrist and they yowl and drop their weapon, giving Kathryn the opening to roundhouse kick them in the face. The second thug gets a stun baton to the throat, dropping them instantly. 

She blinks, realizing that third thug has run off, and that the only sounds of fighting are far off in the distance. Everyone nearby has been taken care of. 

Or so it would seem. _Don't get cocky, Kathryn_. She melts back into the shadows, making her way back to somewhere more central, keeping an eye out for that last thug. 

She hears one last nearby ion blast, and then the thud of a body hitting the ground. Followed by a low moan of pain.

She tracks the sound, turning right and then left, coming around a corner --

\-- Just as Missing Thug #3 spots her and takes aim. She dives forward, under the blast, turning into a somersalt and then flipping to her feet just in time to slap a stun disk against the thug's chest. They go down before they even have time to understand what happened.

There's another faint sound of pain. She follows it, turning another corner --

And freezes.

Fury is slumped over on the ground, blood oozing from a wound in his side. He tenses as she approaches, but then relaxes when he gets a closer look, recognizing her. 

"It _would_ be you," he wheezes. 

"Don't talk," she snaps as she crouches down next to him, putting pressure on the wound. 

She's quietly trying not to panic. There's so much blood. 

"Guess you ... apprehended me ... after all," he laughs softly, right before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and update this once a week. No promises on that.


	3. Chapter 3

She can hear sirens in the distance. 

The wound is messy, but the paramedics could likely fix it. Or at least stabilize him before bringing him to a medcenter. He'll live.

He'll live ...

... and he'll wake up in a holding cell. 

Kathryn swears violently.

And she makes a decision. 

She hoists him up, using her grav assists to carry his weight. She shifts to stealth mode and takes off into the air, to carry him away unseen. 

"Something's come up," she says into her earpiece, her voice flat. "I'll meet you back at the base."

"Roger that," says Tom, sounding strangely distracted.

Later she'll wonder about the fact that Tom didn't even argue with her. But right now she's preoccupied with the man in her arms.

There's only one place she can take him.

*

They call him only The Doctor, and he operates under a policy of strict neutrality and anonymity. He'll treat anyone who comes through his door, hero or villain -- as long as they can pay.

Fortunately that's not a problem for Kathryn.

"Help. Him." she rasps, as she half drags, half carries an unconscious Fury into The Doctor's office. Even with her grav-assist gauntlets, he's a large, heavy man and she is a small woman. 

The Doctor's assistant, a small blonde woman, runs over to assist, while The Doctor himself clears off a biobed. The blonde grabs Fury and by herself lifts him onto the bed (does she have grav assists of her own? Super strength? Maybe some form of telekinesis?). The Doctor pulls out a scanner and runs it over the wound.

"Now before we get started," says The Doctor, looking at Kathryn. "I need you to--"

"Yes, yes!" Kathryn snarls, pulling out the untraceable, no-name credit chip she carries for just such occasions. "I can pay."

"I was actually going to say, I need you to describe to me exactly how and when he got his injury," says the Doctor. "But I certainly won't turn your payment away."

A part of Kathryn is still screaming, but that part feels detached and far away. As unemotionally as possible, she describes to him the terrible events of the previous -- has it really been less than half an hour?

"And you're certain it was a standard issue ion blaster?" asks The Doctor. "Not a custom supervillain weapon? Those wounds can get complicated. I can still treat it of course, but it's better to know what I'm dealing with going in."

"Very sure," Kathryn grits out. 

And finally, _finally_ The Doctor stops talking and actually starts _doing his fucking job_.

The Doctor and his assistant take Fury into the next room and put up a total privacy seal -- presumably because they have to take Fury's mask off. The thought makes her sick, but she reminds herself that The Doctor has built his reputation on _never_ revealing a secret identity. 

She slumps into a chair and puts her head in her hands. What a mess. What has she done? How did this happen. How could she have -- have --

"The Doctor is very good at what he does. You needn't worry." Kathryn jumps -- the assistant has come back out, and Kathryn didn't see her do it. More evidence that she is so very, very off her game. "But you should clean up," says the assistant, leaning over her, looking concerned. Kathryn blinks at her uncomprehendingly. "You are covered in blood."

Kathryn looks down at herself and yes, yes she is. "Is there somewhere --"

"Right through that door."

The room proves to be a small examination room, with the addition of a working sink. Kathryn doesn't have anything to change into and she's not about to take her mask off, so she mops herself up as best she can using water, antiseptic wipes, and the sonic cleanser in the room. It'll have to do. 

She returns to her vigil, and her troubled thoughts. 

"Would you like some tea?" The soft voice makes Kathryn jump.

"I'd prefer coffee if you have it," says Kathryn. "Black. Thank you." As an afterthought: "What can I call you?"

"Of course," says the blonde. "And my name is Kes."

There are a lot of questions Kathryn wants to ask her right now, but Kathryn doesn't think Kes is going to be willing to answer them, given The Doctor's reputation for discretion. Instead, she takes the coffee and thanks Kes again, before Kes goes back into the privacy-sealed room.

Kathryn pushes her mask just far up enough to be able to drink. The coffee is very good, and somehow that it's just salt in the wound.

She knows she should leave. But she can't.

She has no idea how long she sits there, nursing the cup of coffee, waiting. 

Long enough that the coffee gets cold.

"Your friend is going to be fine." 

Kathryn's head shoots up. Kes has just come back out of the room again, smiling.

_He's not my friend_ is on the tip of Kathryn's tongue. _He's --_ she's not sure what they are to each other. The answer should be _enemies_. Maybe even _archnemesis_. But she can't think of him that way.

(She doesn't want to think of him that way.)

"Thank you," she says instead. Though she wants to hear confirmation from The Doctor as well before letting herself feel relief.

She bites her tongue on the questions she wants to ask: _Is he awake?_ _Can I see him?_

Casting around for something to distract herself, she asks instead, "How long have you worked with The Doctor?"

Kes smiles. "You know, most people don't even ask my name? I'm just part of the furniture."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Kes shakes her head. "I prefer it." She smiles wryly. "Well, mostly." She casts her eyes away. "But it's safer that way."

There's clearly a story there, and Kathryn's almost tempted to press. For the distraction, if nothing else. "If you say so," says Kathryn. "But thank you, for the work you do. And thank you, for what you've and The Doctor have done tonight." 

Kes looks back at the privacy-sealed room. "I should get back--"

Suddenly, the sounds of a commotion start coming from outside the door. Kathryn leaps to her feet, eager to have _something_ to do. Maybe they need help. Or maybe it's trouble. Either way, she's ready for some action. 

"-- stop, you'll make it worse--"

"-- your fault anyway, flyboy--"

"-- not helping, either of you --"

Three figures shove their way through the doorway at the same time, and then freeze.

Kathryn just stares at them.

"Uh, fancy meeting you here?" asks Tom sheepishly as he holds up a wounded Wrath. 

Harry, supporting Wrath's other side, waves hello.

*

It had been an incredibly awkward flight back to base.

Frankly, Kathryn would still be at The Doctor's if he hadn't had Kes literally throw them out of his office, using her telekinesis. 

But Wrath, after finding out that Fury had been injured, got very loud and very agitated, aggravating her own wound. The Doctor insisted that "everyone who was not currently injured or dying needed to get out and stop disturbing his patients." 

(Kes had looked regretfully at Kathryn, but she'd still done it. Small mercies, The Doctor had waited until _after_ he'd told all of them that both Fury and Wrath's injuries were being treated and they would be fine.)

And now Kathryn is back at home, and she really, really does not want to have this conversation. 

"Raise your hand if you want to go to sleep and have this conversation in the morning," says Tom. "Or maybe never."

Harry immediately raises his hand. "I vote never. Also, I vote we never tell Tuvok about this."

Kathryn covers her face with her hands. She really shouldn't be letting them get away with this, but, "In the morning, then."

Tom and Harry have identical grins of relief. "But," she continues, putting her hands on her hips and glaring. "We _will_ be having this conversation. If you try to skip out in the morning, you won't like the consequences."

"Yes, ma'am," says Tom seriously. "But just to check, we're all agreed on the not telling Tuvok thing, right?"

She sighs. She should not be considering this. Tuvok will almost certainly find out eventually. And yet: "I'll allow it."

*

Sleep does not come easily to her that night. She tosses and turns, examining the events of tonight in minute detail. Why did she do it? What could have possessed her to leave the scene of the crime with a supervillain, for god's sake. He was unconscious but his wounds weren't deadly. She could have (should have) given him to the police, and the paramedics. She could have taken him to a medcenter. 

But she didn't. She doesn't _like_ not understanding her own actions, not knowing her own motives. It's dangerous. It's a liability.

( _He's_ a liability.)

Finally, she passes out from sheer exhaustion.

*

She wakes up gasping, burning with arousal. 

"Uh-oh," she breathes, staring up at the ceiling.

No. _No._ This is just -- how could she -- _why_ \--

_Oh god_.

She is a goddamn _idiot_.

*

Her mood does not improve in the morning.

Tom and Harry have that conversation with her, as agreed, but first: "I'm not doing this on an empty stomach," says Harry, as he makes plates for Tom and Kathryn. 

"There's no time for this. And I'm not hungry, anyway." Her stomach has been churning with nausea since she woke after that dr-- _nightmare_.

"You can eat breakfast, or I can call Phoebe. And Tuvok. And T'Pel. In that order," Harry threatens pleasantly. 

Why is this her life. "I remember when you were too terrified and in awe of me to even string sentences together. I miss that," she complains.

"Yes, well now I'm scared of your sister, who has threatened to murder us if we let you run yourself into the ground." 

"T'Pel's worse," says Tom. "She just raises that eyebrow and gives you that disappointed look. Which, fine, Tuvok does it too, but T'Pel is much more intimidating about it."

"Tuvok would be the first to agree with you," says Kathryn, giving up and starting eating.

After breakfast, there's no putting it off any longer. Kathryn pinches the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me one thing. Does Wrath know who you are?"

"No!" Tom denies instantly. "... Well, maybe. But not because we told her."

"You saw us," says Harry. "We all still had our face masks on and voice-modulators active."

"Yes, and it's going to stay that way. I want us all wearing secondary masks under our primaries when we go out." Paranoid? Probably. But Kathryn hasn't gotten this far in her career without a healthy amount of paranoia.

Tom makes a face. "Ugh, the secondaries are so stifling."

"Better safe than sorry. We can't afford any slip-ups." Kathryn considers. "...Any _more_ slip-ups." Tom flushes, and Harry rubs the back of his neck.

Tom coughs. "Yes, well. Anyway, what happened with Fury?"

Kathryn sighs, and tells them, skimming over details like her own motives. She expects one or both of them to ask why she didn't take him to a medcenter, but neither of them do. "So what happened with Wrath?" she asks in turn. Tom and Harry tell a similar story. With the exception that Wrath wasn't even unconscious. She could have hobbled away on her own. And yet they'd brought her to the Doctor, because ... why?

Kathryn could ask. But then she'd have to answer questions of her own. And she's not ready to do that.

"We can't trust them," Kathryn says finally. _Even if we want to._

"Why not?" Tom's mouth curls wryly. "You trusted me, back when I was a supervillain."

Harry pats Tom on the shoulder. "Hate to break it to you, but you were barely a supervillain. It took me all of two seconds to seduce you back to the light side of the Force."

"Yes!" Tom gestures emphatically. "That's what I mean! What if --"

"Tom, can you honestly say your heart was in it in the first place?" says Harry. "Or were you reacting to your circumstances at the time and doing it out of spite?"

"...It wasn't _all_ spite."

"No," agrees Kathryn. Tom had been young, angry, dealing with his own mistakes, and the fallout from doing the right thing and owning up to those mistakes, and then being condemned by for it. With his own father leading the charge. 

Kathryn has never regretted offering Tom a chance to join her team -- he's paid her back a hundredfold by now, and grown into someone she likes, respects, and is proud to fight alongside and call friend. "But the situation with the Maquis is a different set of circumstances," she continues. "They formed because the Cardassians present a clear and present danger, and because they were dissatisfied with how law enforcement and the superhero community are dealing with them. And until and unless that stops being true, I don't see the Maquis stopping their activities." 

Harry nods. "She's not wrong, Tom." Harry gives his boyfriend a sardonic look. "Plus I doubt any of the Maquis are going to be wooed away from supervillainy with sex."

...Well there's a thought Kathryn wishes she could erase from her memory. Because now that it's in her head, it's not going to go away quickly. Or possibly at all.

_Guess you apprehended me after all, Fury says again; but he's not bleeding out this time, instead he's handcuffed to her bed and naked and--_

She shakes her head almost violently, trying to banish the images from her mind. She does not need to be thinking about this now. She does not need to be thinking about this _ever_. It is a terrible idea. She coughs, desperately trying to control her own thoughts, and the flush creeping up the back of her neck.

_What the hell, Kathryn?_ she admonishes herself. If she's actually thinking about this, she clearly needs to get laid. 

...With someone who is _not_ Fury. 

Or she needs to punch herself in the face. Something. 

...Maybe she should have said yes when Amal asked her out on that date.

*

"There is a news item of particular interest this morning," says Tuvok at the morning briefing. 

Tuvok projects the story from his PADD. According to the headline, the Maquis are being held responsible for the theft of highly sensitive technology being quietly shipped out of the city, from the docks last night. Fury and Wrath are specifically named.

Harry frowns. "But we _know_ they didn't do it, so who would --" 

Tuvok tilts his head. "How do you 'know' they did not perpetrate this crime?"

When no answer is forthcoming, Tuvok raises an eyebrow. 

Kathryn can't bring herself to meet his eyes, and she suspects Harry and Tom are having similar trouble. 

"...Fury and Wrath were both injured last night," Kathryn says finally. "They were barely able to get away themselves--" And she definitely isn't going to specify _how_ "-- let alone carrying off any kind of tech. Unless it was something very small," she adds, "but if that were the case, then why send it via ship?"

"Plus there was another group at the docks last night," Tom interjects, a little too quickly. "It was probably them." Harry nods enthusiastically.

_Great job not acting suspicious, team_. Kathryn restrains herself from rolling her eyes. 

"That would fit with the information we have been gathering on the Cardassians," Tuvok allows. Harry and Tom barely restrain themselves from sighing in relief when Tuvok continues, "But we cannot disregard the possibility that other members of the Maquis were involved as well, even if Wrath and Fury's whereabouts are accounted for last night." 

"Tuvok's right," says Kathryn. Tom and Harry both look like she's kicked a puppy in front of them. _Really_ , gentlemen. "Despite the evidence" -- _despite what we want to be true_ "--we have to investigate the possibility that it was a person or persons within the Maquis." She raises a hand before either Harry or Tom can object. " _And_ we will look into the theory that it was the Cardassians."

Tom looks mutinous, and Harry looks upset, but neither of them argue.

Small favors.

*

She's been taking on extra patrols every night for the past two weeks. If she's exhausts herself, she falls into a dreamless sleep when she finally goes to bed. She doesn't have to think about the problems plaguing her. Her thoughts trouble her waking hours enough. She deserves a little peace.

"I expected to wake up in a holding cell, you know."

She doesn't know if he's just that good, to be able to sneak up on her, or if she's just that distracted. _Or maybe you've let down your guard just for him._ She turns to look at him, standing not ten feet away, form silhouetted in the moonlight. A quiet thrill of elation runs through her, seeing him in seemingly good health, nothing to show he had been so badly injured so recently. _You should not be thrilled that a supervillain is back on the street_ she admonishes herself.

She doesn't say anything in response to his leading remark. She has no idea what to say. She barely understands her own motives right now. She won't lie and she can't tell the truth. She can barely admit the truth to _herself_ in the privacy of her own thoughts.

He circles around in front of her. "Why save me?" he demands. "Why bring me to The Doctor?" She shakes her head. She doesn't have any answers for him.

"Tell me _why_ ," he rasps harshly. 

"I don't know." _Liar_.

"You're lying." He steps closer to her. Only her stubborn pride keeps her from taking a step back, keeping the same distance between them.

"Think what you like."

"You are the most stubborn, _infuriating_ \--" he breaks away with frustration, walking off a few feet, turning away. "And what the hell are your compatriots up to, with Wrath?" he demands, whipping back around. "Did you pat yourselves on the back later? The oh-so-superior _heroes_ , deigning to rescue your foes? Doing your good deed for the night, then sleeping the sleep of the just? Is this a game to you?"

Kathryn flinches back, stung. 

"Just--just leave us alone. Stay _away_." She can't tell if he's begging or ordering. 

"You came to _me_ ," she can't resist pointing out. "Every time, you're the one who's come to me. Why is that, I wonder?"

Kathryn pauses, and thinks about what she's just said. Why _is_ that? 

He stares at her, every inch of his body rigid with tension. The silence stretches out between them. 

In the end he doesn't say anything -- he makes an inarticulate, strangled noise of frustration, and then does another one of those dramatic plummeting exits, leaving Kathryn alone on the roof.

Kathryn lets out a deep breath.

Well. 

That's a problem.


	4. Chapter 4

Kathryn tries so very hard not to think about Fury. And there's certainly enough going on for her to focus on instead. There's plenty of crime to fight -- the Maquis and the Cardassians are by no means the only criminals in town.

Now if only her subconscious would cooperate. But instead, she's been having vivid, sensual, _intense_ dreams several nights a week, being deliciously tormented by a faceless lover. She wakes up gasping and _aching_ with want.

Her vibrator is getting a lot of use these days. But purely physical release isn't what she wants. She wants -- _craves_ \-- intimacy, warmth, _connection_. And it is utterly, _utterly_ foolish for her to hope for those things with _him_. They're on opposite sides. What does she think is going to happen? Some fairy tale where he isn't who he is and she isn't who she is, and they're just a man and a woman who fall in--

She needs to stop. She needs to _stop_.

*

The investigation into the Cardassians, at least, is progressing. 

The bad news is, Tuvok has uncovered some information that suggests that the Cardassians have friends in high places in the city, which means Kathryn gets to go to another gala. The good news is that since this is actually for work, and not for maintaining her cover, the rest of her team is coming as well. Tuvok is even bringing T'Pel.

Phoebe is annoyed that she can't attend -- she has plans she can't cancel, but she's really disappointed to miss out on "your whole team Ocean'ing 11'ing it up, sis," whatever that means. Kathryn is sorry she can't make it as well, one because she likes spending time with her sister, and two because the two of them staging a public fight is a _magnificent_ distraction.

Tom is ridiculously excited about the fact that he gets to go to the ball with his boyfriend, even if he's not _with_ his boyfriend for the evening. Kathryn is excited that this might actually be a productive event.

She finishes the final touches on her makeup and hair -- sleek updo, a single curl left to hang on each side of her face -- and checks her jewelry -- sapphires, to match her dress. Preparations complete, she goes to meet the rest of her team before they head out for the night. 

Tuvok and T'Pel are already waiting in the entrance way, looking stunning and elegant in their evening attire -- T'Pel in long gown in rich gold tones, and Tuvok in a finely tailored tux with accents that compliment his wife's gown. Harry joins them a few moments later, looking sharp in his own tux.

Tom wolf-whistles as he comes down the stairs. "What a fine looking group this is!" He circles around the group. "T'Pel, Tuvok, you both look ravishing tonight." Tuvok and T'Pel both have the faint crinkling around their eyes that indicates they are amused. "Kathryn, looking delicious as always," he says, kissing her hand as she laughs. Tom then wanders over to Harry and blatantly looks him up and down. "And here he is, the belle of the ball."

One side of Harry's mouth curls up. "Are you done?"

"Never," Tom says gallantly as he starts straightening Harry's already perfectly straight tie. Kathryn suppresses a smirk while Tuvok and T'Pel shoot each other bemused glances. Harry rolls his eyes at his boyfriend's antics.

Tom claps his hands together. "Right! Time to break some hearts, and ruin some lives." He offers an arm each to Harry and Kathryn, and laughing, they both let him escort them out the door.

They unfortunately can't all arrive together, since Kathryn and Tom are so well-known on the gala circuit. They take separate vehicles and different, winding routes to the venue.

Not long after she and Tom have made their entrance, she spots the rest of her team in the crowd, mingling. Harry is investigating the buffet, and Tuvok and T'Pel are quietly, elegantly, and gracefully _obliterating_ every other couple out on the dance floor. 

Kathryn has just excused herself from her latest conversation when she hears a familiar voice.

"We’ve got to stop meeting like this."

Kathryn bites back a smile. She hadn't let herself hope that she would run into Amal here, but now that she has -- "Do we?" she asks lightly, turning to face him. “I’m rather enjoying it, myself.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the people you flirt with.” He flashes that smile at her, the one with the dimples.

“Just the attractive ones.” 

He asks her to dance and Kathryn knows, _knows_ she needs to be investigating, spending her time with someone who’s actually _involved_ in the whole current mess, but she can’t bring herself to turn him down, not when he’s right there in front of her, looking so earnest.

Tom spots her heading onto the dance floor and he flashes her a discreet thumbs-up. _Great_. Now she’s going to have to explain why she’s taking time out of the investigation for distinctly non-work-related reasons.

On the other hand, it is _Tom_. He’d probably be the first one to cheer her on. 

Amal follows her gaze and smirks, slightly. “The ‘boyfriend’ giving you his blessing?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Before answering, he spins her out, and pulls her back in again, leaving her slightly breathless. “You and he don’t … fit. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re great friends. But lovers? I don’t see it.”

Kathryn frowns. "You barely know me. What makes you think you have any idea who I fit with, what I need?" she challenges.

"I wouldn't presume to know what you need," he says. "But I can see what you don't."

She’s about to say something else when she spots Harry go twirling by, a vaguely familiar brunette in his arms. They seem to be enjoying themselves. Amal spots them too, and he seems vaguely startled, though he hides it quickly. With that extra bit of information, Kathryn realizes where she must have seen her before. “That’s your friend Lana, correct?”

“I-- yes.” He shakes his head, bemused. “I’m not used to seeing her enjoy one of these… events.”

“They are awful, aren’t they?” She quirks a half-smile. “Too bad so much rides on having the ‘right connections.’ and being seen at things like this.” There’s a part of her in the back of her head that is yelling _stop talking_ , because she’s being far too honest right now. It’s dangerous for her to be open like this. 

“Depends on the company.” He grins. “I’m certainly enjoying this one better than I thought I would.”

They dance for a few more songs until she has to request a break. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” she laughs. “I need a drink and place to sit for a few minutes.”

He’s about to respond when he sees something or someone in the crowd behind her. Something passes over his face. “I hate to do this, but I need to talk to some people while I’m here. You had a point earlier about ‘making connections’, he says wryly. “But can I catch up with you later for another dance?”

Kathryn needs to be doing some investigating herself. But as for later-- “I’ll hold you to that, mister.”

After watching him disappear into the crowd, she knocks back a glass of water, squares her shoulders, and gets back to work.

*

“Well, that was a bust,” says Tom later that night, echoing Kathryn’s own thoughts on the matter. 

She’s got aching feet, a face sore from smiling, and nothing to show for it. If the Cardassians are being helped out by someone in power in town, they weren’t at the gala. None of her team got so much as a whiff.

She’d been downright cranky when Amal had come back to claim that dance. And apparently it had been a night for failure, because his own mood indicated that whatever business he had at the gala, it hadn’t gone well for him, either. 

“On the contrary, we have now eliminated several possibilities, which brings us closer to the truth,” T’Pel corrects Tom. She looks at her husband. “And it was not an ...unpleasant… way to spend an evening.”

“It was quite agreeable,” Tuvok says, taking his wife’s hand. “However, it is late, and I believe T’Pel and I would like to retire for the evening. We will see you at the morning debrief.” 

Tuvok doesn’t blush but if he did, Kathryn is pretty sure he would be right now. She hides a smile as they leave. Good for them. 

“So I saw that _you_ had a good time,” Tom teases Harry. “Dancing with that brunette.”

Harry shrugs. “She was nice.”

Tom snorts. “Maybe to you. I ran into her at the last one of these soirees and she nearly bit my head off.”

“Yes but I thought you liked that,” Harry smirks.

Kathryn leaves them to their banter. It’s late and she wants to soak her aching feet and then to go to bed.

*

Of course that plan gets derailed when it turns out Phoebe has been waiting up for her.

"Are you _kidding_ me?!" Phoebe shrieks when Kathryn tells her about how the gala went. "Hot Tango Guy showed up again and I _missed it_?! AUGH." She throws herself onto Kathryn's bed, rolling onto her stomach, propping her chin on up on her hands and kicking her legs back and forth. "Tell. Me. Everything. Did you dance again? Did you kiss him? Did you fuck him in the coat closet?"

"Phoebe!" Kathryn exclaims, mortified. Little sisters are the _worst_.

"Did you at _least_ get his number this time?" Phoebe pushes on, relentlessly. "Oh you are _kidding_ me!" she says when she sees the chagrined look on Kathryn's face. " _Twice_ you haven't gotten his number?"

 _Three times_ , Kathryn thinks, remembering their impromptu lunch date. Phoebe reads her expression _yet again_ and demands, "Wait, have you seen him any other times? You _have_ , haven't you? And _still_ no number?" She shakes her head. "How on earth have you convinced everyone that you are this heartbreaker socialite when in reality you are actively terrible at this?"

Kathryn’s about to snap back a witty retort along the lines of _I am not_ when she considers that recently she’s been avoiding getting the contact info of a perfectly nice man, and instead has been spending her nights dreaming about a goddamn supervillain.

Phoebe’s right, she _is_ terrible at this.

*

Ever since that night on the docks, Tuvok has been tracing thefts of similar technology. He's able to find several instances, and they add it to their ever-growing pile of evidence. And they're able to start predicting future targets.

Several nights after the gala, they get a hit.

It turns into a clusterfuck almost immediately after her team arrives on the scene. There's already a fire fight going on. There are _dozens_ of people, if not more. It's hard to pin down who is doing what.

"Something big got loaded into the hovercraft that's lifting off!" Tom says over her earpiece. "And they're sacrificing a lot of personnel to make sure it gets away."

"I'm on it," says Kathryn.

Kathryn takes off, flying high, not bothering with stealth mode, trading it for extra speed to chase down the perpetrator.

They're fast, but they don't have her sheer maneuverability in the air, and she closes in on them quickly.

_Oh no you don't!_

And then there's a dull _thud_ \--

And a crackle of energy --

And Kathryn is falling like a stone. 

_Everything's_ dead -- earpiece, wings, grav assists --

_Shit!_

She fumbles against her suit, trying to locate -- yes!

She pulls the manual cord for her backup parachute, and it deploys just as it should.

Score one for paranoia and redundancy.

She's floating down towards the river, it won't be a great landing, but it sure beats the alternative.

*

And then a massive ion bolt pierces the canopy of her emergency chute.

 _Fuck_.

As she drops, she spreads out her limbs, trying to add the tiniest bit of wind resistance, trying to get her wings to glide if nothing else; every bit of momentum she can dump is helpful, might save her life.

It's working, sort of, but she's still falling much too fast. The river rushes up to meet her.

She blacks out before hitting the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holidays derailed my writing schedule, but I hope to be back to posting once a week.


	5. Chapter 5

  
_Breathe!_  


_Dammit, breathe!_

_You have to start breathing!_

_Come on, come on!_

_Don't die on me_

_Breathe!_

_Goldenbird, listen to me, you need to breathe!_

_Don't do this to me_

*

She breathes.

*

A drop of warm water hits her face. Then another. And another. Arms holding her, rocking her.

She hears sobs. She hears sobs, and words in a language she doesn't recognize—but there's no mistaking the tone of desperation and despair.

Memory floods back.

Falling—the river —

Every inch of her feels bruised.

She's soaked and chilled to the bone, and there are rocks digging into her back.

But she's alive.

She tries to speak, but starts coughing instead. The sobs turn to a strangled cry of joy and then—

And then—

Soft, warm lips pressed against her own, being cradled against a solid form, and she's warm now, she's so warm—

And then much too soon the body pulls away and she wants to cry out _No don't_ but all that comes out is a soft noise—

"—I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

—Tom and Harry, shouting her codename from a distance—

—Then footsteps, running away—

Silence.

*

When she finally opens her eyes, at first she thinks she's blind, until her eyes adjust to the shadows. She's on the shoreline under the bridge. Her primary mask is shoved partially up, but she can still feel her secondary cloth mask on her face, damp and freezing against her skin.

She's only alone for a few seconds before Harry and Tom come pelting up.

"Oh thank god," Harry gasps as he pulls off his cape and wraps it around her.

Kathryn opens her mouth to say something but Tom cuts her off. "Don't try to talk just yet. We've got a vehicle on the way, but you need to save your energy."

"What happened?" she rasps out, unheeding.

"Those bastards shot you out of the air," snarls Harry.

" _Twice_ ," adds Tom furiously. "And then, and then you _fell_ —" he falters.

"We saw you hit the river," says Harry quietly. "But we were too far away."

"We had a really bad few minutes, until you started showing up on the scanners again," Tom adds.

" _Someone_ must have pulled you out, but we didn't see who. Do you know?" Harry asks.

"There was someone," Kathryn says slowly. "But I didn't see who." Which is perfectly true.

She didn't _see_ anything.

*

The vehicle is stocked with blankets and another costume for Kathryn, which she puts on gratefully. The dry clothing helps warm her up, though Harry insists on wrapping her in blankets as well.

They've been in the air for a few minutes when Kathryn frowns. "This isn't the way home."

"You need to get looked at," says Tom from the pilot's seat.

"So where are we— _No_."

And that's how Kathryn ends up back in The Doctor's office, as a patient this time.

Kes ushers her into the back room and puts up the privacy seal, keeping everyone else out.

Including The Doctor.

"I'll call him in if it's something only he can handle," says Kes, answering Kathryn's unspoken question while she runs a scanner over her, "but I thought you'd prefer it this way."

"You're not wrong," mutters Kathryn.

"Tell me what happened," says Kes and Kathryn does. What she remembers about the fall. Being in the river. Getting pulled to shore (but skimming over who did the rescuing).

"I need to check you for head injuries," says Kes apologetically, and Kathryn understands what she's asking. She feels a pang of anxiety as she takes her masks off, but Kes is very professional about the whole thing. If she recognizes Kathryn's face, she doesn't give any indication.

Kes nods at the readings she's getting and then sets the scanner aside. "No signs of a head injury. You show signs of cold shock and the beginning stages of hypothermia, but the symptoms are already subsiding. The dry clothes helped. And you should drink this," Kes says, pouring her a cup of something steaming warm. "It's herbal tea with sugar, to replenish your system. No caffeine and no alcohol for the rest of the night." Kathryn takes the cup and takes a sip. Tea is not her favorite, but the warm liquid feels good going down her throat.

"I can give you something for the bruising, and the muscle soreness," Kes continues. "I'm recommending two days of rest. Moderate civilian activities are fine, but no superheroing."

Kathryn nods. She has no intention of complying, but what Kes doesn't know won't hurt her. "Thank you."

As she treats her wounds, Kes says, "I'm sorry you got hurt, but I'm glad you came in for treatment. The city needs you safe, Goldenbird."

One side of Kathryn's mouth curls up. "I thought you were neutral."

"The Doctor is. I never said I was." Kes grins. "Though I do believe in treating everyone who comes through that door, and maintaining anonymity." she adds, seriously. "It's important." She gives a tiny shrug. "But I do have my own preferences."

Impulsively, Kathryn pulls a card out of one of the pouches on her utility belt. There's no name or logo on it. Just a contact number that only a handful of people have. "If you ever need anything, reach out."

Kes takes the card, and tucks it away on her person. "Thank you, I will." She hands Kathryn some packaged doses of medicine, and a PADD. "This will tell you how often you should take these," she says, tapping the PADD. "You're free to go whenever you're ready."

Kathryn picks up her masks and puts them back on. "I'm ready now."

Kes smiles. "I thought you might be." She takes down the privacy seal, and both women step out.

The Doctor huffs impatiently. "Well, finally." He pushes past them both, into the room.

Tom and Harry both jump to their feet. "She's going to be fine," Kes tells them, and they both sigh with relief.

"Let's go," says Kathryn, striding towards the door.

"Oh and by the way," says Kes, from behind her, "I'll tell you what I told her. Two days off from superheroing."

Kathryn sighs internally. Dammit. So close.

*

When they get home, Tuvok, T'Pel, and Phoebe are all there waiting. Phoebe yells at her and T'Pel and Tuvok are both wearing the quietly stoic faces that mean they are worried.

When she finally goes to bed, she's so exhausted that she's past the event horizon to where she _can't_ fall asleep.

And now, without distraction, her mind is free to fixate on the details of the night.

_—soft warm lips pressed against her own—_

She shivers, and not with cold.

Her dreams are so, _so_ much worse now that she has a taste of the reality.

*

Not long after she wakes up the next morning, there's a knock on her door. Kathryn doesn't even get a chance to say anything before it opens.

Phoebe strides in, carrying a tray of food. "Breakfast!"

Kathryn eyes the tray suspiciously. "Did _you_ make this?"

Phoebe rolls her eyes. "Of course not. I made Tom do it. Now eat."

"Why is everyone in my life so determined to feed me?" Kathryn grumbles as she picks up her fork.

"Because you persist in believing that you can survive on black coffee and pure spite. If you ate actual food on your own we wouldn't have to hound you."

Kathryn rolls her eyes and eats her breakfast.

She looks up to see Phoebe staring at her. "What?"

Phoebe bites her lip and looks away. "I'm really glad you're okay, sis. If anything happened to you—" She sighs.

Kathryn softens. "Phoebe."

Her sister comes around to hug her, carefully avoiding the breakfast tray. "Don't do that to me again, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

Phoebe nods, blinking back a few tears, and clears her throat awkwardly. "So!" she says, sitting back down on the side of the bed and clapping her hands together emphatically. "I have something very important to ask you. Don't go out tonight. Not after what happened last night. You need to rest."

"Actually the medic said I should take two nights off," Kathryn says disingenuously.

Well, Kes had said she _should_. That doesn't mean she _will_. She understands where Phoebe is coming from, but some things are necessary. Criminals don't take time off, after all.

Phoebe rolls her eyes. "We both know there's no way you'll stick to that. Hell, the medic probably knew that. One night, sis. One lousy night off. Stay in the control center with Tuvok, but don't go out. Do it for me."

Kathryn glares at her for several seconds before relenting. " _Fine_. But only because it's you."

Phoebe beams at her. "Thanks, sis!" She leans in and gives her another hug. Kathryn grumbles and hugs her back.

Phoebe leans back and gives her a sly smile. "Anyway, while you have the day off, and while I have your attention... I was at Judith's having lunch a few days ago."

"How's she doing?" asks Kathryn.

Phoebe smiles softly. "She's ...great. She's _so_ great. But! While I was there, guess who I ran into?"

Kathryn shrugs. "I haven't the slightest clue."

Phoebe smirks. "Your mysterious tango partner."

God, _Amal_. She hasn't even thought about him since the gala. She's been so ... distracted. Looks like she was right to turn down that date after all. He seems like such a nice man. He deserves someone who can give him her full attention. And that's _definitely_ not Kathryn. Still, she feels a pang or two of wistful regret at the thought.

Phoebe twirls a lock of hair around her finger. "So I _may_ have given him my contact info. And gotten his."

It's like a punch to the gut. Which is _weird_. She has no right. They had a few dances and one lunch and she hadn't even thought about him in days, and yet— "Well. Um. That's great. I'm really happy for you, Phoebe."

Phoebe's eyes widen. "No, god! Not like that. But I wasn't going to give him _your_ info without permission. That's so rude. But rest assured, I am 100 percent wingwoman-ing this for you. Because I'm just that nice." She pauses. "Also, you need to get laid."

Kathryn sighs heavily. "That's ...sweet. I think. But I have—there's a lot going on right now, sis. I shouldn't—"

"Of course, of course," Phoebe nods sagely.

Kathryn narrows her eyes. This is far too easy.

"But," Phoebe continues, snatching up Kathryn's personal comm, and _there_ it is, Kathryn watches Phoebe add a number to her contacts, "if you should change your mind, or find yourself with some extra free time, well, now you have his number. And yes, I got his permission to pass it along to you."

"I'll think about it," Kathryn lies.

"That's all I ask."

Later, when Phoebe's finally left her alone, Kathryn goes to delete his number from her contacts.

But she can't quite bring herself to.

*

Kathryn is watching from the control center with Tuvok that night, as promised.

She is itching to get out there, to see what Tom and Harry see, to be doing _something_.

"How do you stand this?" Kathryn mutters.

"'I stand this' because the work I do is important, and allows me to help my friends. Research and mission control are vital parts of crimefighting. They are no less valuable that what you do," says Tuvok.

Kathryn flushes. "I'm sorry. You're right. And I do know that. But for me, personally, it's very hard to be on this end of the earpiece."

"As it was for me, when I first took on this role. But I grew accustomed, in time."

"How long did it take you?"

There's a noticeable pause. "There are some days when I still am not." He looks at her gravely. "Last night, for example."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be. We all know the risks of our work." He has a faraway look in his eyes. "Myself more than most."

The silence stretches out between them, but it's not an uncomfortable one. More companionable.

"We've never talked about why you and T'Pel decided to retire," says Kathryn, after a time. "I've never wanted to press. That's still true. But I want you to know that if and when you—either of you—ever want to discuss it, I'm here for you both."

He looks back over at her, a hint of warmth in his eyes. "Thank you."

They are interrupted by a call from Tom and Harry, asking for support on an op. It's going well enough, though Kathryn has to bite her tongue several times when they do things in a way she wouldn't. But they're on the ground right now, and tonight she's not. She's support tonight.

And maybe if she tells herself that enough times, she can stop herself from backseat crimefighting.

After hearing one particularly boneheaded yet ultimately successful stunt through her earpiece, she has to actually bite down on her clenched fist not to say anything.

After they sign off, Kathryn lets out a deep breath and looks over at Tuvok. "I guess I'm lucky I'm only doing this for one night."

"Indeed. While I have appreciated your company this evening, you are both more suited to and more content with your current role."

"But I have to ask. How do you do listen night after night and not _say_ anything? Especially after stunts like _that_?"

"Over the years, I have grown to respect many of Mr. Paris' and Mr. Kim's crimefighting tactics, as well as your own."

He pauses.

"Others, I have learned to tolerate."

Kathryn bites back a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the conversation between Phoebe and Chakotay went like this:
> 
> Phoebe: That's a great shirt. But it would look even better on my sister's bedroom floor.
> 
> Chakotay: ...
> 
> Chakotay: Are you hitting on me ... _for_ Kathryn?
> 
> Phoebe: ...Yes.
> 
> Chakotay: ...That's weird. But I'm kind of okay with it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, life turned into a shitshow for a while. But I'm back.

Kathryn tosses and turns that night, trying to fall asleep. But it’s no use. Her thoughts are racing and her body is like a live wire. Normally, even when she’s troubled, patrol exhausts her enough that sleep comes sooner or later. 

She sighs and sits up. If she’s not getting any sleep, she might as well do something. 

Ten minutes later, she’s sinking into a steaming hot bath with a sigh, a glass of red wine in hand. She should have done this sooner. The heat seeps into her muscles, relieving some of the tension she feels. Soft music plays and candlelight flickers as she sets the glass down, leans back, and sinks deeper into the water. 

_Is there anything better than this?_ she ponders, waving her hands back and forth, feeling the currents trickle through her fingers. 

Of course, that’s when her traitorous mind answers, providing images of how much nicer it would be if she had someone to share the bath with. The tub is certainly big enough, after all. Her eyes flutter shut as she imagines a warm, strong body behind her, rubbing her shoulders, washing her hair, trailing kisses down her spine... 

_Dammit_. Her eyes shoot open. She doesn’t need to be tormenting herself like this. 

This infatuation is ridiculous. Worse, it’s _dangerous._

_He saved your life, though._

And she arguably saved his. But that doesn’t mean he’s sitting around _pining_ for her, or anything like that. 

_He kissed you._

At least that’s what she wants to believe. But her recollection of that night is fragmented in places, and she’s not sure she can trust her own memories in that regard. She might just be projecting what she _wants_ to have happened.

Because it’s just so terribly romantic, isn’t? Conveniently so. _Seductively_ so. Dashing, mysterious rogue, rescuing the heroine from certain doom, weeping over her comatose body, begging her to live, stealing a kiss before escaping into the night—

She snorts. What a bunch of tripe. Her imagination clearly needs a stern talking-to. _Or maybe Phoebe’s right, and I need to get laid._ Though that would probably just cause more problems, in the long run.

No, this is a problem and she needs to deal with it. The problem is, she has no idea how. Ignoring it isn’t working. She doubt repressing it will work, either. So that leaves...what? Confronting him? Arresting him? Sleeping with him? Those all sound like terrible options. 

Well. They _should_ all sound like terrible options. But that last one … _Down, girl_.

She fumbles for her nearly forgotten wineglass, and takes a big drink from it. Mentally, she runs through her options one more time, adding one or two for good measure. _Let’s look at this methodically_.

Telling her team and asking them for help—she shies away from that one, at least for now. Her own stubbornness and pride won’t let her admit her dilemma. 

Arresting him—she’s known since the night he was shot that she can’t bring herself to do that. Which is probably another reason she should tell her team. Dammit.

Confronting him—tempting, because she wants to see him. But what would she say? Don’t be a criminal? Stop fighting the Cardassians? He’s not going to do that. And frankly, even though they are on different sides, can she actually call him a criminal? After all, he’s … and she needs to stop this line of thinking before she stays up all night debating philosophy in her own head. 

Sleeping with him—so, so tempting, but it’s not actually going to solve any of her problems. It’s just going to spawn a whole new series of problems. 

She goes around and around with her thoughts until the bathwater cools. 

She still doesn’t have any answers. 

*

Kathryn is fairly certain she’s about to be murdered. 

If not now, in this warehouse, then later, when she makes it home, and Phoebe finds out what a stupid, stupid thing she’s done on her first night back out on her own. 

And if Phoebe leaves anything after she’s through, then Tuvok, T’Pel, Harry, and Tom will all take their turns. 

In Kathryn’s defense, she hadn’t _meant_ to get cornered in a warehouse by what are probably members of the Cardassians tonight. She had honestly and sincerely meant to just do a standard patrol with regular check-ins—Tom and Harry’s condition in exchange for them not insisting they patrol _with_ her, as they had for the past three nights. 

But then she’d spotted some suspicious figures, and though they didn’t wear any identifying markings, her instincts had screamed at her that they were connected. So she’d followed them.

And now she’s up in the rafters of this warehouse, and when she’d tried to call for backup, discovered that the place was shielded. Typical. And then she’d heard a commotion at the other end of the building, and now she’s watching a lot more thugs than she is comfortable with searching methodically among the stacks. They’re searching thoroughly, competently, but they don’t seem to be in a hurry.

From what she’s overheard, they don’t know for _certain_ that she’s here, that anyone’s here. But _something_ had triggered their defenses, and Kathryn would swear it hadn’t been her. 

Kathryn once again is grateful for her suit’s stealth mode—though she’s been using it so much lately she rather misses her normal gold and red (which Tom refers to as her “plumage” when he thinks she isn’t listening.) But black and shades of grey will definitely serve her better in this situation. 

She’s picking her way across the rafters, looking for another exit. The searchers have cut her off from her original way in. She spies a catwalk hugging the wall in the far corner. Hopefully, it will lead up and out to the roof. 

She’s carefully making her way over to the catwalk when she hears the faintest scraping sound. She freezes, listening. A minute passes. Then another. The sound doesn’t repeat itself. 

She can’t wait any longer. She needs to be out before the searchers make it this far. She takes a running leap, landing lightly on the catwalk, and starts making her way swiftly along the path, hopefully soon to freedom.

And that’s when she turns a corner and runs straight into a wall. 

Of course, walls don’t grunt when you run into them, or grab your arms to steady you when you stumble.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses quietly, glaring at Fury. Not that he can tell from behind her mask.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answers barely above a whisper. 

“Later,” she murmurs. “They’re searching the warehouse right now. We need to get out of here.” She looks around for an exit, and there’s not much, except a door a few steps away that clearly doesn’t lead to the outside. 

“You can leave, but I’m staying,” he says, the stubborn idiot.

The voices are getting noticeably closer, but Fury doesn’t seem to realize. Or possibly he doesn’t care. 

“Oh, for—” There’s no time. She shoves them both through the door and pulls it shut behind them. There’s barely room enough for both of them, pressed up against each other in what is presumably an old utility closet. 

Fury shifts them around, trying to get more comfortable—no, wait. He’s just positioned himself between her and the door. Like she’s going to let him get away with that. She moves back around so she’s the one closest to the door. He makes a faint strangled noise as she slides past him. 

The voices get closer, closer, and she can see lights shining through cracks around the door. She’s freezes, barely breathing, and behind her, Fury is equally silent and still. 

Finally, the voices and lights start moving away from them. She waits, listening, but there’s no indication that anyone is still out there. 

They shouldn’t leave for a while, just in case, but they’re probably safe enough, for the moment. 

“What are you doing here?” Fury hisses in her ear, clearly having come to a similar conclusion and deciding it was safe enough to talk. 

“Didn’t we already go over that?” she murmurs, turning back to look at him. 

“You never answered the question.”

“I asked you first, if you recall,” she points out. 

“I’m not the one who almost died less than a week ago! You can’t take a few days off?”

“And how would you know that?” she asks. Not that she had any doubts about who pulled her from the river that night, but it’s nice to have confirmation. 

He freezes. “I. I mean I—”

“Thank you,” she says, out of equal parts gratitude and wanting to throw him even further off balance.

He sputters a little more, before giving up. “If you really want to thank me,” he murmurs, “you could stop risking your life so recklessly.”

“I’ll stop when you stop,” she says, knowing damn well neither of them are going to stop. They’re both in this too deep.

His silence indicates he knows it as well.

They wait in silence for a few more minutes until Kathryn realizes that there’s something else she needs to know.

“Did you look? That night, when you—” she asks. _Did you see my face? Do you know who I am?_

He doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “No.” 

Strangely, she believes him.

She is suddenly, viscerally aware of how close he is to her. She swears she can feel the heat of his body even through the layers of cloth and armor, where they’re pressed up against each other. She starts trying to twist away, anything to get some space between them, some space for her to _think_ —

“Wait, _don’t_ —” he objects, and he tries to pull back himself, but there’s no room and she just sort of wriggles against him and slides along his body until—

 _Oh_.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, clearly embarrassed. “I—I’m sorry.” She can’t see his face, of course, but she imagines he’s blushing fiercely under his mask.

To be fair, so is she.

“It’s—” but what is she going to say, really? _It’s fine, I don’t mind your massive erect cock poking me._ (Although Jesus, how does he _walk_?)

“We’ll be out of here soon,” she settles on, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“I always imagined this very differently,” he murmurs so quietly she suspects she wasn’t meant to hear it. 

Something hot flutters in her belly and a flush spreads across her cheeks as she thinks about him “imagining this.” “How _did_ you see this going?” Kathryn asks before she can stop herself. 

There’s no answer, only a faintly mortified silence as he realizes she must have heard him. 

Kathryn curses herself for making this awkward situation even more awkward. What was she thinking, asking him—

“There’s a bed.” His voice is so soft she has to strain to hear him. There’s another lengthy pause, before he continues. “There’s a soft bed, and silk sheets. And we have all the time in the world. I can finally touch you the way I want to. I can find out if your skin is as soft as I imagine it is. I can find out what you smell like, taste like. I can map every inch of your body with my mouth. Discover what makes you gasp. What makes you scream. What makes you beg.”

There’s no way this should sound so hot, coming through the voice modulator in his mask, but it does. Oh how it does. And god, now she’s imagining it too, what it would be like to have him spread out beneath her, to explore those broad shoulders, that firmly muscled back and chest, and be able to take her time. She shivers, thinking about it.

He’s not done yet. “I want to bury my face between your thighs and see how many times I can make you come with just my mouth. I want to see what you look like, what you sound like, when you come. I want to hear you scream my name. I want to fuck you so long and so hard we both pass out from exhaustion afterwards.”

She lets out a long, shuddering breath. Kathryn can’t remember when she’s been more aroused in her entire life. 

“And then,” he finishes. “As soon as we woke up, I would do it all over again. As many times as we can.”

“I—” How can she possibly respond to that?

“Don’t,” he says, with quiet resignation. “You don’t need to—I know you don’t—”

She has no idea what to say. She ought to agree with him. She should turn him down. But it’s the last thing she _wants_ to do. Honestly, the only thought in her mind is _I mainly just imagine you tied down, so I can ride you._

He sucks in a sharp breath. “ _What?_ ”

Belatedly she realizes she must have said that last part out loud. “I—” She fumbles for words, the right words.

“ _Don't_ " he begs. "Don't say something like that and then not—"

“Would you let me?” she asks, before she can stop herself. “Would you let me tie you down and _take_ you—”

“ _Yes_ , yes, whatever you want—” he breaks off into an inarticulate moan as she shifts her hips and starts grinding herself against his arousal. She’s so already so wet.

He growls, lifting her up and pressing her against the wall. 

"Tell me to stop," he pants, rocking back against her. 

"Don't stop," she gasps, rolling her hips faster. They're rutting against each other like teenagers, desperate for friction, for contact. They're both still fully clothed, still wearing masks—they haven't even taken their gloves off, for fuck's sake. Wildly she thinks of the myth of Eros and Psyche—how he came to her every night in darkness, and she never saw his face. And by exposing him to the light, she broke the spell and drove him away.

She should stop, she knows she should stop, but everything she’s been holding back, everything she’s been in denial about, it’s all crashing down—

She barely remembers in time to bite back her scream as her orgasm explodes through her, leaving her panting and spent in his arms. He follows her a second later, grunting as his own release takes him, slumping against her as they support each other.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

In the aftermath, with the shattered remains of her walls, her carefully constructed defenses, she’s seized with the reckless, stupid impulse to take off her mask, strip away the pretenses between them. And that scares her more than anything else that’s happened tonight.

She does the only thing she can.

She runs.

*

She makes it home without incident, and without encountering any members of her team. She’s grateful for that small favor—she has no idea what explanation she would give.

She stays in the shower until her fingers wrinkle up from the scalding hot water raining down on her body, as she attempts to scrub the memory of him off of her skin. 

Prying him out of her heart will take longer.

*

When she wakes up in the morning, she knows she has to do something. She can’t afford to do this ever again. Last night was an aberration, something that can’t ever be repeated. 

Kathryn needs to get him out of her system. 

And she has an idea of where to start.

She picks up her personal comm and looks up Amal’s number.

*

Kathryn’s beginning to wonder if she’s made a mistake. Oh, he’d agreed to the date readily enough, but he’d seemed distracted during their conversation. Even a bit jumpy.

Well, it’s not like she’s at her best, either. 

She arrives slightly early to Judith’s—another lunch at a restaurant they both liked seemed like the way to go—and groans when she sees who else is there.

Phoebe waves gaily at her. “Hello! And what brings you here today?”

“Oh, nothing that would interest you,” Kathryn lies through her teeth, as she starts making contingency plans in her head... Maybe she can intercept Amal before he gets here, and they can go somewhere else. “What are you doing here?” she asks, trying and failing to keep a bit of a whine out of her voice. Her sister just brings out the worst in her.

Phoebe laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. I’m just waiting for—Judith!” she says, turning to face the woman in question, and clasping her hands. “You look amazing!” 

“You look great, Judith,” Kathryn agrees. Judith is absolutely dressed to the nines. So is Phoebe, come to think of it. “Got something special planned this afternoon?”

“Just a date with my hot girlfriend,” says Judith, linking arms with Phoebe and looking at her fondly. Phoebe grins back.

“Wait, _what_?” How did she _miss_ this? 

“Oh, did I not mention?” Phoebe says coyly. 

“No, you didn’t, you little—” Phoebe spends hours harassing Kathryn about _her_ love life, and can’t be bothered to share about her own? Oh, she will _pay_ for this later. 

Just then, Phoebe looks past Kathryn’s shoulder, and her grin gets even bigger. “Why hello there!” she waves.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no_

“Kathryn, hello,” says Amal as he walks up. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“No, not at all.” She glares a warning at Phoebe before turning to smile at him. “You remember Judith, and I believe you’ve met my sister, correct?”

He nods. “Phoebe, right?”

“Glad to see my sister finally womaned up and contacted you,” Phoebe says before Kathryn can get them away from her. Phoebe squints at him. “You know, you’ve got a little bit of eyeliner or something up—” she gestures above her own left eye.

A faintly alarmed look flashes across Amal’s face so quickly that Kathryn’s not sure if she’s imagining things or not. “Oh, uh, I should go—fix that. Excuse me.” He dashes off to the restroom before Kathryn can say anything to stop him—it’s not like she cares if he uses makeup or not. 

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d chase him off that easily,” says Judith. 

“Phoebe, I am going to _kill you_ ,” Kathryn hisses.

“You can certainly try,” Phoebe says sweetly. 

“Kathryn, please don’t murder her,” says Judith. “I have plans for this afternoon that will be very hard to achieve with a dead girlfriend.” Judith gives Phoebe a smouldering look that leaves no doubt as to what her “plans” consist of. Which is much more than Kathryn wants to know about her sister’s love life.

One of the nearby waitstaff laughs as he carries a tray of food past. “Get it, boss!”

“Oh, I intend to,” Judith calls back, as she wraps her arm around Phoebe’s shoulders and kisses her temple. “And speaking of getting it, Kathryn, you really ought to take that man home and ride him like a pony.”

Kathryn flushes with mortification. Phoebe laughs delightedly. “I’ve been telling her that!”

Kathryn covers her face with her hands. “I will murder both of you and make it look like an accident.”

“Well, anyway, we have to go. We have a busy afternoon planned of lunch, shopping, and then my hot girlfriend riding me like a pony,” Phoebe says. Kathryn makes a horrified choking noise. “Or maybe it’s my turn to ride her like a pony.” 

“We can flip for it,” says Judith. Kathryn starts wishing for death.

“Be sure to call later and tell us everything,” Phoebe calls out as they (finally) walk out the door. “But, like, _much_ later.”

“Much, much later,” agrees Judith, and then finally, mercifully, they are gone.

Kathryn’s barely managed to regain her composure when Amal comes back. “I’m sorry about my sister. I know she can be a bit…” Kathryn trails off, trying to figure out the best word to use.

“Yes, I remember,” he says, looking amused.

Phoebe had said she’d “had a conversation” with him but Kathryn hadn’t really thought through the implications until now. “Oh god, I hope she didn’t say anything too awful to you.”

He gets a wry look on his face. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ve got a sister myself, and I know how they get.” He offers her his arm, and she slips her hand through the crook of his elbow, as the host brings them to their table.

It’s fine, everything’s fine. Her sister is gone, she’s about to have a nice lunch with a lovely man.

She is determined to enjoy this date.

*

The date is awkward as hell. 

Conversation is stilted. She’s restless and fidgety, and he is, too. The easy chemistry of their earlier encounters is gone, and she doesn’t know why.

_You know why._

Kathryn is incredibly stubborn, and she keeps trying, for several more painfully awkward minutes. But finally she has to admit to herself what she’s been trying to deny — the man across from her is not the man she wants. And he’s never going to be.

She sighs, setting down her glass. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t working.” 

Instead of looking hurt or offended, he looks relieved. She’s almost a tiny bit offended at _that_ , but she ruthlessly quashes it down. 

She takes his hand. “Amal, you’re a wonderful man, and you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. But it’s not me. I shouldn’t have asked you on this date.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are so warm and kind and understanding. “I shouldn’t have accepted,” he admits. “I—I’m not seeing anyone, but there’s someone…” He looks away.

“...Someone you have feelings for,” she finishes quietly. She laughs wryly. “I know the feeling. There’s someone—” She shakes her head in frustration.

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener, if you’d like to talk about it,” he offers. 

Kathryn bites her lip. It’s tempting, even though he’s virtually a stranger. But in some ways that makes it easier. “Have you ever met someone,” she says slowly, “and there’s an instant—connection. A spark. Something undefinable, but also undeniably there. But it’s a bad idea, because of circumstances, and you _know_ it’s bad idea… but you just can’t stay away?”

She looks up, and he has the oddest expression on his face. “...Yes.”

She tilts her head, rests her chin on her hand. “You know, the hell of it is, I think under other circumstances it _could_ have been you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You know, I was just thinking the same thing? You’re an amazing woman, Kathryn, and I think if I’d met you sooner… but I didn’t.” He gets a far-off look in his eye. “And now she’s in my heart, and I don’t think she’s ever going to leave.”

She reaches out to touch his shoulder. “Have you told her?”

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t told her.” He sighs. “There are some major...obstacles between us ever being together.” A look of indescribable tenderness crosses his face, along with a flash of anguished longing.

“I’m sorry.” Her heart aches for him. He’s so clearly deeply in love with this woman, whoever she is. “I hope that—that circumstances change.” 

He gives her a rueful grin. “Me too. For both of us.”

“What’s she like?” Kathryn can’t help asking. 

He smiles, and everything about him just lights up. There’s no other way to describe it. “She’s… so stubborn and reckless I want to scream sometimes, but she’s also one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. And kind. I didn’t expect her to be kind, but she is and every time I see it it takes my breath away.” 

She gets the tiniest twinge of envy as he’s describing the woman he’s in love with. Kathryn’s pretty sure she’s never been loved like that. Fury may _want_ her, but love? 

She shakes her head. Whoever Amal is in love with must be the biggest idiot ever—Kathryn can’t imagine what kind of “obstacles” would be keeping her from accepting him.

“—what’s yours like?”

“Huh?” Her head snaps up, and she flushes as she realizes she’d zoned out while he was baring his heart to her. 

He offers her a gentle smile. “I asked, what is yours like? The bad idea?”

She laughs a little, runs her hand across her face. “Oh he’s—well, honestly, stubborn and reckless as well. Dedicated to what he believes in, that’s for sure. I get the impression that once you win his loyalty, you’ve got it for life.” She ponders the question some more. “He’s got a playful side that I don’t think he’s let a lot of people see, but he’s let me see it. I feel honored he trusts me that much.” It’s true, she realizes as she says it. She does feel honored by his trust.

“But circumstances…?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Let’s call it a, a conflict of honors.”

He nods slowly. “I think I understand.” 

They finish their meal in silence, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. She feels better having cleared the air with Amal. If she can’t give him her heart, she can at least give him what honesty she can. 

They split the check and he walks her out. “Thank you for listening, Amal,” says Kathryn warmly. “This didn’t go as I expected but I did have a good time.”

“I did, too. You’re not a bad listener yourself.” He gives a rueful chuckle. “And I seem to be doing this a lot recently. I’ve got another friend—well, she recently met not one but _two_ ‘bad ideas’.” He makes a wry face. “I’ve been hearing a lot about it.”

Kathryn laughs. “Oh, that poor girl. I hope things work out for her.” 

“One of our other friends told her she should just date both of them.”

Kathryn laughs again, harder. “Well, that’s certainly one solution.”

He smiles at her fondly as he turns to go. “Take care of yourself, Kathryn.”

“You too.” She shakes his hand before turning and walking away.

Kathryn shakes her head at her own idiocy. Who in their right mind would pass up a kind, wonderful man like Amal in favor of falling for a, a — _a supervillain, a criminal, a man whose face you’ve never seen and real voice you’ve never heard—_

Her, apparently. 

She gives Amal one last wistful look over her shoulder. 

Well, at least she isn’t breaking his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I asked myself, how much painful irony could I cram into one chapter?
> 
> Also, please enjoy some adorable lesbians.


End file.
